


Night Terrors

by AZ_Valentine



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Complete, F/M, Friendship, Horror, Insanity, Love, Lovecraftian, Madness, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Night Terrors, Psychological Horror, true love is sticking through even the worst horrors together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZ_Valentine/pseuds/AZ_Valentine
Summary: When Jill is awoken in a state of unrelenting terror, Nick and Hancock do what they must to find the answers as to why. References are made to H.P. Lovecraft's "The Dunwich Horror," and "The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath." Rated M for language and psychological horror.





	1. Chapter 1

Nick was jolted out of his sleep-like low power state abruptly by a shrill, bone-chilling scream. He sat up quickly, taking hold of his lover's shoulders. Jill had awoken in a frenzy, eyes wild and fearful, shrieking in unholy terror. She'd never done this before. The detective was aware of her frequent nightmares, but they never usually bothered her. Something was terribly wrong this time. Although awake, she seemed to be unaware of Nick's presence. She stared straight ahead, screaming again as she kicked her feet frantically towards the foot of the bed. It was almost like she was trying to keep something away from her. 

" _Jill!_ " He took her face in his hands, attempting to force her to look at him. "Jill, what's wrong?!" She struggled against him, unwilling to look away from the edge of the bed. A piercing, inhuman shriek erupted from her. Tears of pure terror streamed down her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot, like she'd just taken a bad dose of Psycho. Nick looked over his shoulder, scanning the area Jill was watching. There was nothing there, and still she writhed and kicked and screamed. Tossing her head violently from side to side, she screwed her eyes shut, eventually breaking the old Synth's grip on her. There was a distressed pounding at the door, and the faint orange glow of a lantern sifting in from underneath it. 

"Are you guys okay?!" It was Hancock. Jill's frightening wails must have awoken him, and quite possibly several others within the Old State House. 

"Something's wrong with Jill!" Nick shouted back, his voice cracked. The General had gotten away from him, and was now perched on the night stand, wielding her Pip-Boy above her head as though it were a rock. Her gills fluttered agitatedly; such an alien movement on a human body causing her to appear slightly more menacing. She launched the Pip-Boy down toward the floor at the foot of the bed, her face twisted with dread and revulsion. Once the device bounced off of the wooden surface and skittered to the other end of the room, she blinked several times, staring at the point of impact in anticipation. When nothing happened, she looked up at her confused and distraught lover. 

"Th-th-th...the gate..." She hissed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes were still wide and panicked, and her chest still heaved as she drew in sharp, staggered breaths. "He...he...the gate..." 

"Jill..." Nick watched her in suspense, wondering if she was going to lash out again. 

"Is it alright to come in?" Not at all to the detective's surprise, Hancock had remained at the door. 

"Give me a minute..." Slowly, carefully, Nick got up out of bed. Keeping his eyes locked onto Jill's, he managed to pull his slacks on. She watched him intently, her breathing beginning to calm down. Her eyes followed his hand as she observed him reaching for her panties and his shirt. Standing up straight again, he approached her cautiously, handing her the articles of clothing. Hesitantly, she took her underwear, her hands trembling as she put it on. She slid off of the night stand, her knees knocking together as she took Nick's shirt from his outstretched hand. The detective backed away from her while she donned it, buttoning it up most of the way. She wobbled and swayed slightly, her quivering hands making slow work of the buttons as her eyes darted back and forth between them, and her perturbed lover. 

Nick backed up towards the door, not yet ready to take his eyes off of her. The petrified woman shivered as she sat on the edge of the bed, then scooted herself back, pulling her knees swiftly up to her chest again. She'd given up on observing the old Synth, and went on to staring blankly at the floor. Nick assumed this meant she was at least mostly calm, and took it as an opportunity to allow Hancock and two neighborhood watchmen inside. He undid the rusted deadbolt and tarnished brass chain that kept the ancient oak door sealed. It creaked hideously as it swung open, and the Mayor stepped through the threshold. Lantern in hand, he glanced back and forth between the detective, and the shadowed mass on the bed that was the General. Turning to the watchmen, he gave them a stiff nod, signaling that it was in their best interest if they left. They did so without hesitation, and Nick couldn't blame them for it. He locked the door once more, resealing the room, unknowingly forbidding any terrible, unspeakable knowledge from creeping into any unfortunate, unsuspecting ears. 

"Jill?" The Ghoul approached her with caution, his lantern outstretched in a feeble attempt to pierce the abysmal darkness that surrounded him. Even Nick's eyes looked almost dimmed in this dreadful, accursed blackness. As he rounded the corner of the bed to stand at her side, he noticed a new addition to her left wrist. It appeared to be a tattoo of sorts, shaped like a curved star with an abstract eye in the center. Despite its relatively familiar impression on the mind, something was horribly off about it. The damnable thing almost seemed to shimmer a grotesque greenish-purple color in the glow of the lantern. The lines of the star seemed to wave in a rhythmic pattern, and Hancock could have sworn that the demoniac eye within the shape's pentagonal center was watching him, its hateful gaze boring into the depths of his very soul. Shaking off these nonsensical thoughts, he chalked it up to being a trick of the light, as well as of his tired mind. 

"I haven't seen her this pale since the day we met." Nick knelt in front of his lover, reaching up to place a hand on her pallid cheek. It was slick with icy sweat. She made no move, continuing to stare at the floor with an expression that suggested she'd seen something truly frightful beyond definition. "And I've never seen her like _this._ " 

"The gate..." Jill mumbled almost incoherently. "H-he's...the gate..." At last, her statuesque posture had been broken. She released her legs, letting them dangle off the side of the bed, and she stared at the mysterious new symbol on her arm. The detestable thing pulsed, and leaked inky black tendrils from the outline of the star, its repulsive shimmer brightening for about a second before fading back to its usual slight glow. At that moment, her face drained of any remaining color, her eyes tearing up. "Ask...and you shall receive..." Without warning, she broke into a fit of insane laughter, her eyes rolling up into the back of her head. She fell backwards onto the bed, cackling at the ceiling. " _Y'AI'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH!_ " The madwoman shrieked repeatedly in between bouts of hysteria. The two men exchanged horrified glances as her manic laughter eventually gave way to an otherworldly silence. The General had been rendered unconscious within a few minutes of having her episode. Her companions shifted her into a different position, so that she was lying comfortably on her side. Nick draped his coat over her as a blanket, silently wishing for her to wake up and be able to talk about whatever happened to her in the middle of the night. 

"Okay, Nick...I really need an explanation, because I am _seriously_ freaked out right now." The Mayor was nearly speechless, unsure of how to respond to all of this. He looked as though he might faint as he sat down on the couch at the other end of the room. The old Synth, reluctant to leave his partner's side, heaved a sigh and joined Hancock on the worn, red sofa. The two remained silent for a few moments longer as they lit up a couple of cigarettes. It was clear by the tension in the ghostly silence that neither of them actually wished to speak of this. 

"I don't know what happened." When Nick finally spoke, his voice trembled. "She just woke up and started screaming, and kicking at something that wasn't there. Even threw her Pip-Boy at it..." Leaning over, he picked the device up off the floor, seeing that it was three-thirty in the morning. Giving it a quick once-over, he was astonished to see that there wasn't even a single crack in its surface. "Wow. Vault-Tec really knew how to make their equipment durable, at least." For the first time, he felt compelled to look at the part that was always fastened around Jill's arm. He was shocked to find that most of the cushioning had been carved out, as well as the plastic covering underneath it. A sleek, metallic black plate had been installed in place of the plastic, held tightly in spot by thirteen screws. "I guess they didn't anticipate having to make these things Jill-proof, though." 

Hancock bent over in his seat, trying to get a better look at it. "How'd she get the metal to bend like that?" He reached out, sliding his finger down the curved, alien material. Almost instantly, he withdrew his hand, appearing repulsed. "Is that even metal?" 

"Your guess is as good as mine." Nick took a puff from his cigarette before continuing. "I'm not gonna mess with it. Jill's picky about her science projects, and I'm assuming this is one of them." He leaned forward over the coffee table, holding the Pip-Boy up to the lantern to see if there was any damage he may have missed. Much to his relief, there was none. The black substance shimmered queerly in the dim light, flashing phosphorescent veins of light blue that jogged the detective's memory. "Wait a minute...this is the same stuff that's inside that telescope of hers." 

"I don't like this at all, man." The Ghoul shuddered, sinking further into the couch as though trying to get away from the Pip-Boy. "Didn't you say she might have connections to 'strange and unspeakable things?'" 

"Yeah." Nick sighed, setting the Pip-Boy on the coffee table, no longer willing to look at it. Something about it made him terribly uneasy. "I'm really beginning to believe it, too. She's always been a tinkerer, and she's always had nightmares, but ever since the Dunwich incident..." He trailed off, his eyes cast to the floor, his expression grim. "Ever since then, she's become more secretive about her scientific endeavors, and her nightmares kept getting worse. They don't normally scare her, but they've been getting more frequent. This has never happened before." He took a lengthy drag from his cigarette, allowing Hancock to chime in. 

"So, what's the Dunwich incident?" The Mayor raised an eyebrow inquisitively, not knowing what kind of terrible knowledge he was asking for. The detective, although hesitant, related to his friend the entire grisly tale. He spared none of the morbid details, having to pause several times to allow Hancock a moment to get his bearings. The Synth's story was truly revolting, leaving the poor Ghoul in a state of nauseated fright. "H-how...? I'm sorry, man, but that sounds insane." He laughed nervously, clearly unwilling to believe in the truth of such an awful account. How such abominable things could possibly exist in their world, he couldn't comprehend. 

"I know it does. Give me a sec." The detective rose from his seat, shuffling over to the loaded backpack his lover always carried. He sifted through its contents carefully, trying his best to not disrupt her meticulous system of organization, until he found what he was looking for. The object was of a moderate size, shaped like a rectangle, and wrapped tightly in ragged cloth. Returning to his visibly disturbed friend, he sat by his side once more, unfolding the many layers of fabric around the artifact. 

"Holy shit...it's real..." Hancock stared in shock and awe at the damnable tome in the detective's hands. Just as Nick had described, the loathsome thing had a cover forged of several stitched together patches of a strange, leathery material. Its pages were yellowed, presumably by age, and its contents were scribed in a black ink that seemed practically untouched by the sands of time. Throughout the terrible book were drawings of symbols, diagrams, and grotesque, indescribable, outright alien creatures. The majority of the pages had dried blood dripped and streaked across them. 

"We agreed not to talk about this again until she translated it, but..." Nick sighed, his eyes cast on the image of one of those abominable creatures. Jill had left a folded up paper with that page. She'd written "Yog-Sothoth," and underlined it, noting it as the thing's name. She went on to describe him as "The Gate," and "The Lurker at the Threshold." She wrote of his knowledge of all that is, was, and ever will be. "I think she's translated enough." His mechanical heart faltered for a moment. He stared gravely at the last line of Jill's otherwise neatly written notes. It was scribbled in an apparent haste, suggesting she may have been stressed when she scrawled it down. He read it aloud, his voice shaking. "I fucked up." 

"What?" Hancock raised an eyebrow, his interest peaked by the irrefutable proof of the detective's ghoulish story. "What does that mean?" 

"I'm not sure I want to know. However..." Nick snapped the ancient book shut, taking a moment to, oddly, appreciate the strange motif on the leathery cover. It was of many stars within stars inside a circle – much different from the one on Jill's arm. There were out of place curves, lines, and three little circles. It was unlike anything the old Synth had ever seen before, and in his travels, he'd come across quite a few new, made-up symbols used by cult-like raider gangs. "I _need_ to know...for Jill." Turning to his friend, he passed over the tome, his expression grim. "I'm waking her up."


	2. Chapter 2

**[Content Warning]:**   
This work contains strong elements of psychological horror. 

" _Oh, hell no._ " Hancock thrust the accursed book back into the old Synth's arms, clearly repulsed by the unholy thing's mere existence. "I didn't wanna be the one to say it, but I know you felt the _exact_ same way I did when she shrieked in that fucked up language. I'm not in any hurry to experience it again." He glared at Nick, reminding him that he had indeed felt it, too. By some treacherous miracle, his mind had all but blocked out the experience completely, sparing him from even recalling the memory – but only up until this point. He relived those few minutes that his lover had reveled and writhed in her paralyzing, insane laughter, shouting to some great, mythical cosmic entity in what may or may not have been its own bizarre dialect. For the first time, he cursed his cybernetic brain for its ability to hold perfect short-term memory, despite its deficient long-term storage. The feeling was nothing less than the deepest, most primal fear he'd ever known – even stronger than his fear of not being a person, or, in Jill's words, not having a soul.

"I won't blame you if you go, but I have to talk to her. If there's a way to help her, I have to find out." Nick shuddered, catching a chill from out of nowhere. It was the middle of the summer, and all the windows in the room were shut. Some of the panes of glass were cracked, but none of them had any holes going through them. He decided that it must have been his fear response causing him to feel the cold air around him, but he quickly came to realize that it truly _was_ out of nowhere. There was no draft. The icy chill had settled in around him without any apparent source whatsoever. For a split second, as he looked over his shoulder into the pitch black corner behind them, he could have sworn he'd glimpsed a shadowed mass, wriggling just out of sight. It was gone in an instant, making him wonder if what he saw was real, or if he was somehow susceptible to hallucinations. 

The Mayor sighed in exasperation, clapping his hands on the detective's shoulders. "Why do you _always_ have to remind me how much better of a man you are?" 

"Don't kid yourself, old friend. I suspect fear is a normal response to this scenario, and there's no shame in admitting it." Nick offered him a sincere smile, although still thinking of what he may have seen in the corner. "You and Jill both have taught me that sometimes, you have to do the wrong things for the right reasons. You're a good man, Hancock. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." The detective stole a glance at Jill's Pip-Boy, realizing that it was already four-forty-five in the morning. Dawn was not too far away. "Besides, it's almost time for the burials. I hope you'll forgive us if we don't make it." 

"Don't sweat it. You gotta take care of your girl." The Ghoul shook his head, giving a firm squeeze to Nick's shoulders. "I have to go, pal, but I'll be back as soon as it's over. Thanks for understanding." 

"Same to you." The Synth watched as his friend left the room with his lantern, shutting the door, and leaving behind an eerie silence. Nick was in darkness once more, unable to blame Hancock for wanting a light source in this damnable blackness. Turning his attention over to the bed, he was no longer able to see Jill. He placed the repulsive tome on the coffee table, picking up the Pip-Boy, and turning on its flashlight. The soft green glow illuminated a decent portion of the room, much to his relief. In his mind, dawn couldn't come soon enough. Strange notions of paranoia had begun creeping into his thoughts, and he couldn't help but feel as though he was being watched by some lurker in the shadows. Shaking his head, he sighed heavily, telling himself nothing was there, thoughtlessly admitting that he indeed _could_ be susceptible to hallucinations. If there's one thing he's learned from his time with Jill, it's that theoretically, anything is possible if there's no clear-cut explanation for something. 

Nick shuddered at his thoughts, somewhat scared by what it could mean for him if he was capable of hallucinating. He shook the fiendish ideas away, refocusing his mind on his mission to speak to his beloved, and get this mess sorted out. Approaching the bed, he carried his torch with him, stepping cautiously across the old, creaking floorboards. Something felt terribly wrong. The closer he got to Jill, the more his artificial heart ached, and the longer he looked at her, the more he thought he saw wisps of shadows dancing in his peripheral vision. He would turn his head to look at them, only to chastise himself for it when he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the off-putting sensation lingered, steadily growing into a hideous fear that was beginning to cloud the detective's mind. The last time he felt like this was while the two were at the Dunwich Borers, about a month and a half prior to their last stand with the Institute. 

"Nick?" Jill spoke, startling him. The light must have awoken her. Her voice was timid, shaking almost inaudibly. "Nick, is that you?" She hoisted herself up on her elbows, looking over her shoulder at him. He couldn't see her very well yet, but he knew she was afraid. 

"I'm here, sweetheart." Setting aside his caution and inexplicable fear, he rushed to sit by her side. In that instant, the Pip-Boy's light began to flicker, and he stopped dead in his tracks at the foot of the bed. Terror surged back into him as the light faded into an unnatural abyss. The old Pre-War device had lost all power. He gasped sharply, swearing that he felt something brush against his leg as it slithered past him. His mind was screaming at him to run, but his body was frozen in place, stunned by fright. "Jill?!" A low, hollow moan resonated from somewhere in the room. It gurgled and growled threateningly, and Nick heard the unmistakable sound of a slimy, wet slopping, moving slowly in his direction. He began to panic, searching blindly for a weapon. 

The frightful groaning grew louder, and angrier. Something wrapped itself around his ankle, eliciting a horrified scream from the old Synth. The terrible thing was disgustingly slick, feeling somewhat pulpy through his pant leg. He kicked at it wildly, forcing it away from him. All logic and rationality escaped him as he dropped the Pip-Boy, sprinting toward the door. "Damn it! Shit!" The handle wouldn't turn. The detective frantically rammed his shoulder into it, but couldn't get it to budge. Hearing a sickening plopping noise, he rushed over to the windows. He tried each one, but none would open. It was sinking in that he was trapped in there, with god-knows-what crawling around in the shadows. 

Without warning, the room went deathly silent, the air falling still. The only sounds Nick could hear were his hastened breathing, his rapid heartbeat, and the unmistakable rattling of his metal endoskeleton. For a brief moment, he felt as though he might faint, but his attention was quickly drawn to a figure in the shadows. It lurched forward, bringing the eternal abyss with it, blotting out any visible light, and the poor detective wasn't equipped with infrared or night vision. He screamed, falling backwards in his hurry to get away from the unknown terror. It made no sound, other than a staccato clacking on the floor. 

"Nick, is that you?" The voice which spoke to the petrified Synth was not Jill's. This voice filled him with immediate heartache. 

" _Jenny?_ " Nick's jaw dropped at the sight of her. She was clearly not all there in person, for she was mildly luminescent, as well as translucent. The detective, although still unable to tell if he was hallucinating, wondered for a moment if it was truly her ghost. 

"Nick..." The specter stopped about six feet away from him, staring blankly, her eyes shadowed over. "What happened?" 

"I...I don't..." He stuttered, unsure of what to say. His mind was fighting between the part that was him, and the fear that still tried to make him question his identity. 

"Where were you, Nick?" Jenny's apparition clenched her fists, now glaring at the stupefied Synth with the kind of rage and animosity that would make a raider blush. "Where were you when I needed you?" She stomped her heel on the floor, somehow audibly producing the sound of a sharp click. The sound echoed aggressively in the cavernous void that surrounded them, and for the briefest moment, Nick swore he saw her face shift into a hollow-eyed monstrosity. It was gaunt and sickly white, without a nose, and grotesque, bloodied needles for teeth. It was over in an instant, but the detective knew what he saw. 

"Stay back!" He scooted himself backwards on the floor, reaching out desperately for one of the backpacks he and Jill carried. They were nowhere to be found, and then he realized, he was no longer in the Old State House bedroom. His hands grasped at solid rock beneath him, and he heard the faint rumble of a waterfall in the distance. For a moment, he took his eyes off of the thing pretending to be Jenny's spirit, only to notice it had disappeared by the time he looked back. 

"Hey." The phantom whispered in his ear, earning what must have been the desired effect of getting him to jump, and cry out in alarm. He whipped his head to the left to look at it, and found it there smiling warmly, setting a pistol in front of him. The two were suddenly in a Pre-War home, and Nick was sitting at a kitchen table. 

"W-what...?" He stammered, unable to keep up with what was happening to him. He was still in the middle of processing where he may have been that had a waterfall. This place appeared to be an apartment, bearing the dimensions of that of an upper-middle class apartment commonly found in the inner city of Boston. Sunlight sifted in through the windows from above, indicating that it was about noon wherever he was. The room had the basic accommodations; cabinets, a gas and grill stove, a fridge and freezer set, an island counter, and counters up against the pale blue walls. The floor was a checkered black and white tile, and the doorways to other rooms were exquisitely carved arches. The window-wall in the next room over displayed a grand view of Boston, complete with the distant image of what would come to be Diamond City standing boldly in the background. 

"You forgot this upstairs again, silly." The pretender laughed, although its demeanor seemed to have changed for the better. Was it showing him one of the original Nick's memories? If so, why would it do that? "You can't be a cop and _not_ carry your gun to work." It clapped his shoulder twice, its movements obviously inhuman by how rough and unpracticed the gesture was. 

"What are you?!" Almost instinctively, Nick snatched up the gun on the table and chambered a round, its sights trained on the fraudulent Jennifer Lands. 

It stood behind the island, leaning on it and biting into a bright red apple it picked out from a carved wooden bowl. It chewed its morsel at an average pace, but stared at him coldly, almost unblinking. Its eyes suggested undertones of murderous intent, but its calm manner could have been interpreted as a momentary truce. Had this been a human, or even a Synth, the seasoned detective would have been able to make them sing, but this thing was no ordinary being. Its intentions were all but completely unknown to him, leaving him wondering if he was going to survive this experience, or even walk away with his sanity intact. The imposter swallowed its bite of fruit, still glaring at him. 

"I'm your fiancée, Nick." When it spoke, its icy voice cracked, momentarily splitting into two; a high and a low voice. "The one you _failed_ to protect." The scenery changed again in an instant, and Nick found himself facing a dreaded moment of the original's life. When Nick Valentine heard of his fiancée's death, he wasn't too far from the scene of the murder. He'd rushed there to find her face-down on the pavement, soaked in a pool of her own blood, and with an outline of white chalk around her corpse. The poor man was so stricken by this, it drove him to volunteer to have his brain tampered with. 

"No..." The detective shook his head in an attempt to ignore the intense feelings of guilt that were threatening to overcome him. He cursed under his breath, forcing himself to look away from the grisly scene. "No... _no...!_ " The guilty sensation was winning. He was nearly powerless against it as he began to convince himself that he was the reason Jenny was murdered. The original was warned that trying to take down Eddie Winter could have serious consequences, but he went after the bastard anyway. 

"You may as well shoot me, Nick. You already have." The phantom pointed to the gun in his hands, shrugging its shoulders. Every time it moved, there was a vague yet discomforting distortion around it. The old Synth was eerily compelled to do as he was told, but was able to stop himself, trying to distract himself from the manipulative entity. It grew angry with his hesitation, and whistled to get his complete attention. "Take the shot, Nick. Finish what you started." 

"This isn't real! You're _not_ real!" The trembling detective forced himself to look away again, and cling desperately to some idea of logic. "Jenny's been dead for centuries...you're _not_ her..." 

"Keep telling yourself that. You just can't bear the shame of your failure." The creature before him cackled heartlessly, and then vanished from sight as their surroundings altered themselves again. This time, Nick was watching Jill sitting at a workbench in near total blackness, tinkering with something under the dim light of a couple lanterns. She must not have noticed him, for she busily worked away. 

"Jill!" He rushed to her side, only for her figure to fade away, leaving behind only whatever project she was working on. As he scanned the workbench, his terror spiked once more. His own severed head was sitting on it, cracked open in various places, and was stripped of its mechanical brain. Its eyes lit up abruptly, staring at him in a mixture of vile contempt and unearthly fear. Its jaw hung loosely from one bolt as it slacked open, erupting in a hideous, piercing howl. The detective swatted the damnable thing away from him, and it fell silent once more as it dropped to the floor, then rolled away into the unforgiving abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

**[Content Warning]:**   
This work contains strong elements of psychological horror. 

Nick took an involuntary step back as he watched his own head bounce off the floor, then tumble and roll away into the shadows. Its wretched eyes had flickered out, and its disturbing cries were silenced the moment it hit the floor, much to the frightened detective's relief. He clutched at his chest, screaming within his mind for help, for he was too scared to make even the quietest of sounds beyond his shuddering breathing. He pivoted on his heel, turning, at least he thought, in a complete circle. The blackness that enveloped him was impenetrable – like the void of space itself. He looked to his feet, only to find that although he perceived the space beneath him as solid, it was the same as the surrounding abyss. 

"You're a fool if you think she loves you, if you think you _mean_ something to her." The mocking voice of the pretend-Jennifer broke the desolate silence, causing Nick to jump violently. He snapped his head up, looking once more at the thing that seemed so hell-bent on breaking him. Without a second thought, he aimed his gun at it once more. Despite this, the abomination simply shook its head, and took a step forward. "You're a fool if you think she wants _anything_ more from you than to rip you apart, use you for her experiments, and then sell the worthless leftovers for more _efficient_ parts."

" _Shut the hell up!_ " Nick was losing this mind-game, and quickly. He gave in to the creatures whims, and responded with hostility, allowing his mental barriers to crack even further.

"What's that, Nick? Can't handle the truth?" Its face twisted once more – this time into that of a ghastly pale hag, with long, knotted and matted silver hair. Its eyes were but milky, phosphorescent swirls of yellowish-white, and its terrible, fiendish smile stretched unnaturally from one ear lobe to the other, baring hideous, yellowed needles as teeth, and pulpy, black gums beneath thin, crusted lips. 

" _GET BACK!_ " The old Synth fired a warning shot past the monster's head. The sudden discharge echoed queerly in the strange void, filling his ears with a painful, disharmonious ringing. The creature's face had returned to normal, and was staring at him with a cruel, unforgiving sneer. " _What do you want?! What do you want from me?!_ " His sights were trained on its forehead, his hands shaking violently, and his breath faltering. His trigger finger was twitching almost completely beyond his control. Every part of him was screaming at him to kill the unholy thing, and yet, he waited. 

The thing's head bowed forward, hiding its ever-changing face. "I want you to suffer for letting me _die,_ Nick Valentine..." It spoke his name with a vile hiss, then straightened itself out to gaze at him once more. The face had morphed into that of a ghoulish corpse, whose greyed flesh was rotting away as maggots chewed greedily at the necrotic tissue. One eye was missing, and the other was dangling out of its socket by a mostly devoured optic nerve. A decent chunk of its lips had been lost, and ants and grubs alike were gnawing at the putrid gums that housed yellowed, decaying teeth. 

" _You're not Jenny!_ " Whether it was fear, intuition, or by the manipulation of powers beyond his comprehension, Nick pulled the trigger. The bullet sank itself right into the nameless horror's forehead, a small stream of blood seeping down its deformed face. It crumpled to the invisible ground, curled up almost peacefully as though it were floating in the void. "And I'm not _her_ Nick." Still cautious, he approached it to see if it was truly dead. However, its phosphorescence faded before he could get a clear look, and it dwindled away into nothingness. 

Alone once more, the detective sighed in exasperation, lowering his weapon. He touched his face, and noticed that it was oddly wet. His eyes were wet, too. Had he been crying? The evidence pointed to it, but he knew that it should have been physically impossible for him to shed tears. As he turned around, he saw a new scene open up before him. It was the funeral of Jennifer Lands. Men and women draped in black circled a polished white coffin as it was carried down the grassy, winding path of an old Boston graveyard. Its destination was a freshly dug crypt at the base of a small hill. Oaks and maples swayed gently in the crisp autumn breeze at sunset, shedding their vibrant red and orange leaves as their branches rattled about, and yellowish-orange bands of light sifted in between their colossal trunks. 

Unsure of where to go, or what to do with himself, Nick followed the crowd of people to the gravesite. No one noticed him, so he assumed that this was another one of the old Nick's memories that he was passively viewing. He groaned internally, wondering how long it would take for this nightmarish sequence to end, and if he would make it out alive. He was jolted from his thoughts as a gloved hand was placed on his shoulder. Whipping his head around in alarm, he was shocked to see Jill standing there in a long black dress, complete with a black veil that suggested she was supposed to be attending the funeral service.   
Without thinking, Nick pulled her into his arms and held her tight, resting his head on top of hers. He shut his eyes, sighing quietly in relief as she returned his embrace. She rubbed his back gently as he trembled in her arms. "Jill...what the hell is going on?" 

"Hush, my love." The young woman purred into his chest. "It's almost over." She shifted herself in his grip, sliding her arms up around his neck. Nick opened his eyes, realizing that they were in the void together. Jill's smile was warm and sincere. "There's something I need to tell you, Nicky." 

"You know you can tell me anything." The detective's arms tightened around her waist, unwilling to let go. He locked eyes with her, giving her a stiff nod, letting her know that whatever it was, it would be okay. 

The General laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Do you know where we are? Care to take a guess?" 

"I'm not sure, but my gut says it's a lot like Hell." 

"Not quite, actually." Jill shook her head almost rhythmically now, as though she were listening to some distant music that was inaudible to her lover. "Right now, you and I are existing outside of space and time. I know it doesn't sound possible, but I need you to just go with it on this one." She removed her arms from around his neck, gripping his arms firmly. Her expression turned serious. "There's one more thing." 

"What's that?" The old Synth's head was spinning, and he hadn't the slightest clue of how to handle the information of his whereabouts. Question after question popped up in his mind, threatening to overtake him and drive him mad. 

"I'm not your Jill." Her familiar, welcoming face then twisted into a hateful snarl, eyes hollowed out, and baring those detestable, bloodied needle-teeth that haunted the detective's every other thought. The nightmare wasn't over yet. He screamed pitifully in terror, attempting in vain to wrench himself from the monster's iron grip. It sank its dreadful fangs into his shoulder, gurgling a deep, hideous growl that matched the one from earlier on in the bedroom. It stung like salt on a freshly gouged wound. Nick panicked, grabbing the thing's head and pulling on it, desperate to get it off of him. The creature released its hold on him, removing its foul teeth from his synthetic flesh, and allowing him to fall aimlessly into the endless void. 

The Synth cried out in pure terror as he plunged through the starless depths. He was wholly unaware of the passage of time, and unsure of how long he'd actually spent in that abysmal drop. It dragged on for what felt like hours, until the darkness spat him out, and onto a cold, damp stone floor. The sound of the impact echoed sharply around him, suggesting that wherever he was, it was underground. The noise was accompanied by a deep, distant, monotonous tone, which resonated evilly in the stagnant air. This tone, although far away and mysterious, vaguely resembled what only the most eccentric and open-minded, or insane and animalistic, could call "music." Nick listened closely for a moment, noting the additional accompaniment of faint drums and pipes. They impressed upon the unholy music with their rhythmic and arrhythmic rising and falling, and their queer, outright alien-sounding harmonies and dissonances that could not be compared to any sound produced by any Earthly instrument. He groaned as he scrambled to his feet, getting hit with a sudden wave of nausea. This new environment reeked of the miasmal stench of a thousand open graves. The horrendous odor pierced the detective's nostrils, causing him to promptly wretch up any liquids that were left in his system from the previous day. Luckily, there wasn't much, but it was still downright unpleasant. 

Once able to look up from the rocky ground, he felt his already tortured mind cracking even further as his vision was filled with the monolithic terror before him. He could only guess at what kinds of unspeakable acts of evil were committed in such a place, judging by its stench alone – he could only wonder if the ancient structure was somehow related to the book Jill had acquired from Dunwich. If asked, he would have described the fantastical architecture as something akin to a temple, or perhaps even a cathedral. Cyclopean walls of black basalt loomed ominously overhead, their spired towers jutting spikes of various, sickly green hues. Immense arches towered above him, adorned with a myriad of spiral patterns, and a diverse collection of strange, otherworldly symbols. A cracked and worn stone staircase – with steps far too massive for a human – extended upward to a rusted iron gate. Its bars were overrun with a thick, mossy substance that sprouted tiny, spiraled purple flowers which glowed with an eerie phosphorescence. A low rumble crept in from behind the gate, and it creaked open with a dreadful metallic screech. 

A heavy, polypous tendril wormed its way into view, wrapping itself around one of the great iron bars. It lurched forward revoltingly, another one following in its wake, reaching out and gripping the curved wall just beyond the threshold. Even from a distance, the petrified detective could see that the unsightly things had eyes and mouths in random places all along their grotesque lengths. The foul monstrosity jerked forward, using the wall to assist it in exiting its dwelling. At first, it appeared to be composed of globules of light, but the oddly mystifying spectacle was over in an instant. A cluster of eyes surrounded a central maw that dripped a black, viscous fluid, which sputtered outward and almost hit the old Synth as the beast let out an unearthly howl. His heart stopped abruptly for a few moments as he processed what he was seeing – it was the unspeakable horror from that accursed book. He was standing before the Great Yog-Sothoth himself. 

Pure, unadulterated horror washed over Nick as he shrieked, tripping over himself in a frenzy as he turned to escape. He cried out desperately as he ran into an unknown blackness, begging God, or anyone who could hear him, to save him from this unrelenting nightmare. The ground trembled beneath him as the Outer God bellowed again, and when he dared to glance over his shoulder, he saw the full form of Yog-Sothoth in all his putrid glory, chasing him at speed. There are no words in any known language that could describe what Nick was so unfortunate to behold. He remembered the mess of writhing tentacles, violently whipping about in the air, the indescribable snapping mouths filled with jagged, yellowed teeth, and the countless bulging eyes that all glared savagely at him. He remembered the way the Beyond One's luminous globules bounced hypnotically, and the way they almost seemed to be a strangely inviting feature of their host. But worst of all, he remembered the inexplicably primal fear that surged through him, which had elicited another cry from him, and had erased all rational thoughts from his mind. 

" _JILL!!_ " As though acting on instinct, Nick screamed for his beloved. " _JILL!! HELP ME!!_ " He wasn't sure what compelled him to do something so useless, for he didn't believe for a moment that she could actually hear him. As far as he was aware, he was lost outside of space and time, and God only knows where Jill ended up in all this. Yog-Sothoth had nearly caught up to him – it was apparent by the creeping purplish-blue glow that extended about three feet in front of him; a light that most certainly came from those mesmerizing globules. He wasn't foolish enough to look back again. Instead, he forced his legs to carry him faster through the cavernous abyss. He couldn't outrun his pursuer, though, and he knew it. All he could hope for was a miracle. The creeping light had grown brighter, and up ahead in the distance, he could see the outline of a cliff's edge. Unwilling to accept whatever fate the terrible cosmic entity had in store for him, he braced himself to jump into the inky depths of oblivion. 

Just before the detective took the plunge, he was stopped by a sudden flash of blinding white light from above. As he looked up, Yog-Sothoth hissed loudly, practically breathing down his neck. The light had stopped moving, indicating that the Outer God was either right where he wanted to be, or the strange bright flare had earned his full attention, and he'd stopped further back. Nick had to tell himself not to look at the entity again, out of fear for his diminishing sanity. He watched a figure emerge from the light, terrified at first, but was then overwhelmed by a feeling of warmth that soothed him. As this new individual approached, he could see that they had a halo of golden light shining above their head, and outstretched white wings protruding from their back. The figure was ultimately feminine, sporting polished, full-body silver armor, with a peculiar golden crest on her breastplate. She extended her arm, wordlessly telling the Synth to take her hand, and the moment she was close enough within the light of the globules, he saw her for who she was. 

"My guardian angel..." Nick muttered under his breath, reaching out and grasping her hand firmly. She smiled softly at him, and her powerful wings lifted him off the ground, taking him away from that dreadful place. Why the Great Yog-Sothoth had decided to let them leave, he couldn't understand, but he was grateful to have been shown that odd act of mercy from such a significant being. He kept his eyes on Jill as she carried him into the light she'd emerged from, but he soon found that his vision was going black. His last thoughts were of relief, but also of the unspeakable horror he'd experienced. 

He awoke with a start, finding himself on the familiar wooden floor of the Old State House bedroom. Sunlight poured in from the windows, softly illuminating the room, the position of the slanted shadows indicating that it was about nine-o'clock in the morning. Glancing over at the bed, he saw Jill sitting upright, deep in a meditative state. Hancock was on the couch to his left, looking at him as though he too had caught a glimpse of an unspeakable cosmic entity. The Synth used the wall behind him to assist him in standing up. He was in a daze, unsure of the reality of everything that had happened overnight. 

"Are you alright?" Hancock's voice trembled ever so slightly, giving away an underlying fear of something. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, hands hiding his mouth as his eyes remained cast downward – he was staring vacantly at the wicked tome from Dunwich, which was open on the coffee table. He wouldn't look up at his friend, but could only continue to glare hatefully at the damnable book. 

"I...I think so..." Nick rubbed the back of his head, noting that it was aching for some unknown reason. He turned to face his lover, who was just coming back from her trance. She breathed deeply, slowly opening her eyes, and looking at him for a brief moment before she jumped down from the bed, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He locked his arms around her, and although he was absolutely certain that he'd successfully escaped the terrors of the night, he couldn't help but wonder if this was just another rouse, meant to drag him into a false sense of security before torturing his mind yet again. 

"I'm so sorry..." Jill's voice cracked as she trailed off, beginning to sob into the detective's bare chest. He was tempted to inquire as to what she was apologizing for, but decided against it as Hancock strode up to the two of them, and threw his arms around their shoulders. Nick decided it was best to accept a temporary silence, for there would already be much to discuss among the three of them. He resigned to the tranquility of the moment and shut his eyes, breathing deeply, and basking in the glow of the morning sun.


	4. Chapter 4

Jill sat between her companions on the worn, red couch in the far corner of the bedroom of the Old State House. She sipped idly at some freshly brewed coffee – which was excessively sweetened – from a chipped, white ceramic mug, all the while leaning into Nick, whose arm was draped over her shoulder. She was still wearing Nick's shirt, but had decided at some point to put on a pair of her shorts. Her eyes sported heavy, dark circles beneath them, betraying the fact that she'd been awake for nearly two days straight by then, or perhaps longer, depending on how she had perceived the flow of time during the night. Her skin never returned to its healthily tanned shade, and instead retained the ghastly pale color that made her eyes seem slightly sunken in, and her cheeks gaunt. She actually pondered whether or not her own horrifying experience had aged her. When she looked at Nick, he could see his own boundless terror staring back at him through her eyes. It reminded him of what he'd smelled, and heard, and seen, down in the cyclopean lair of the Great Yog-Sothoth. What's worse, is that it reminded him that he saw The Lurker at the Threshold himself. 

The trio remained eerily silent for a long while, each of them more or less staring off into space, deep in thought. Nick reflected on his experience, taking himself back through each awful stage of it. He wasn't sure why the first creature he'd encountered had gone so far out of its way to torment him, and then wind up tossing him to an Outer God. That is, unless the monstrous thing was a manifestation of Yog-Sothoth – one that was capable of going places, and doing things he himself could not; for instance, _inside_ the bounds of space and time. He thought back to the moment he'd beheld the gruesome magnificence of Yog-Sothoth in his entirety, but was unable to recall exactly what it was that he saw. He had but a faint memory of the gnarled tendrils, the bulging eyes and snapping maws, and the enchanting globules of purplish-blue phosphorescence. 

For the briefest moment, the unfortunate detective relived the mind-shattering insanity of it all – the creeping madness, brought explosively to the surface of his mind by the purest of fright, threatening to send him reeling into a state of fervent lunacy – all because he'd gazed upon that which was never meant to be seen by mortal eyes. The rest, however, he simply could not remember. It was as though a dense fog had settled in over the ocean of his churning thoughts, sparing him from the horror of what might lie beyond its thick, misty depths. He was ultimately thankful for that terrible fog, choosing not to venture into it, and instead turned his head to look at Hancock. 

The Ghoul was leaning away from Jill, his elbow on the ripped armrest of the couch, propping his head up while he stared thoughtfully out the window. One leg was crossed above his knee, and his other hand held a cup of steaming coffee. He didn't much care for the drink himself, but he'd muttered earlier on that he didn't sleep at all last night, and needed the bitter elixir to make it through the day. In a somewhat mechanical way, he lifted the mug to his lips, grimacing as he swallowed a large gulp of the black, earthy-smelling liquid. He made a different face moments later, along with a moderately disgusted sound, prompting Jill to look up at him. 

"Maybe add some sugar?" This was the first the General had spoken since she apologized to Nick, and he still didn't know what she was apologizing for. Her voice was hushed, almost sounding timid, and hoarse from her screaming fits. 

"Ugh...sweet coffee is worse. Well, to me, anyway." The Mayor set his cup down on the table in front of him, setting both feet on the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, and gazed forward for a long pause before turning back to his friends. His expression was solemn, yet remarkably hesitant for someone like him. "So...are we just _not_ going to talk about what happened last night?" Indeed, _that_ was the dreaded question the three were so reluctant to ask. The topic of the abhorrent night terrors had at last been broached. The room fell into another uncomfortable silence, and they glanced nervously back and forth between each other. It seemed that no one wanted to speak, but no one could blame anyone for it, either, for they all had their own horrifying tale to tell. 

"No one, huh? That's alright...how about we start at the beginning?" It was Hancock who shattered the stillness, he being much more in-the-dark about the situation than the odd couple. His glassy charcoal eyes met Jill's tired green ones, and his brow furrowed worriedly. "You never told me why you woke up screaming." 

The young woman cast her eyes to the floor, heaving a sigh as she placed her coffee next to Hancock's. "It's a long story." Her tone suggested an underlying unwillingness to carry on with the conversation, but her friendship with the Mayor won her over, and she decided to open up to him. "Nick told you about the Dunwich incident, right?" When he nodded with a mildly scared expression, she lifted the putrid tome from the coffee table, flipping its blood-stained pages until she found the entry on Yog-Sothoth. The three stared at the image of the Outer God, sketched in aged, black ink, and the strange text scribed below it. The symbols on the page bore no resemblance to any English type, or even that of Chinese or Russian characters. 

Nick couldn't stand to look at the terrible creature for more than a few seconds. He snapped his eyes shut, turning his head away, and made something of a whimpering sound as he shuddered a sigh. He jumped slightly as Jill placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. As he glanced back at her, he smiled softly, remembering how she had somehow, against all odds, appeared to him as an angel, and saved him from an unknown fate. It made him wonder if she'd managed to hear him calling for her, despite how improbable that sounded. His mind betrayed him at this most inappropriate of moments. He remembered quite vividly their impassioned lovemaking after a night of fighting, fireworks, and debauchery. The Synth found himself battling the urge to lock himself away with her once more; to revel and rave together in the pleasure that was once so foreign to him, and to feel the fire in his heart grow hotter with each passing minute. Jill caught his eye, replying with a smirking, half-lidded gaze, and a small but obvious nod. She then gave his shoulder a light squeeze, pulling him back to reality. 

"Sorry. I'm just, uh..." The detective's voice trailed off, and he glanced downward for just a split second. "Don't worry about it for now. I don't want to throw us off-track." 

"You sure?" Hancock lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, not quite willing to believe the old Synth should wait to disclose his secret to the group. "You look like hell, old friend." 

"Yeah. I'm sure." Nick wouldn't relent. He was more interested in getting the details in order, believing the situation to be confusing enough as it was. "Go on, Jill." 

"Okay." The young woman took a deep breath, clearly still hesitant to talk about what happened to her. She grabbed a heavily creased piece of paper she'd stuck in the ancient tome, which had the notes about Yog-Sothoth written on it. "I have to update this...but, anyway..." She paused, taking a moment to look back and forth between her companions. They both gave her an encouraging nod, prompting her to continue. "When we found the book, as you know, I took it upon myself to translate it. I've only been making progress because of a cryptograph-like artifact that also came from the Dunwich Borers...and..." Stopping in mid-sentence, she glared at the frightful, inky image of the Outer God. "...and because of Yog-Sothoth." Nick recoiled, his eyes widening in fear at the mere mention of the abomination's name. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hancock pressed her for information, practically on the edge of his seat. "He helped you?" 

"Oddly, yes. I didn't know what I was doing. So, I asked out into the universe for someone to teach me how to use the cryptograph, and he answered." She reached into the back pocket of her torn, blue shorts, producing a peculiar bar-shaped relic. It was composed of the same metallic black material she'd put in her telescope and Pip-Boy, and had a clear crystal lens embedded into the object via a gleaming golden ring. "So much has been lost from Earth's languages over the past several millennia...especially since we went ahead and nuked the hell out of each other. I never would have been able to work through translating _any_ of the written languages without Yog-Sothoth's help." 

"Are you trying to tell us you've been _working_ with that God-forsaken _thing?_ " Nick was stunned by this revelation; revolted, rendered speechless, and for a fleeting second, wondering if Jill had somehow betrayed him by allying herself with an Outer God. He knew nothing of them, and it tormented him to no end when he thought of all the possible – and _im_ possible – consequences her decision could have had. 

"Will you allow me a chance to explain, my sweet?" The Vault Dweller's hand found its way to Nick's, taking it ever so gently. The tender motion was quite unlike the iron clasp of the angel's hand; it was that particular memory of her that quieted his fears, at least for the time being.

"Y-yes...of course. I'm sorry." Sitting back, he attempted to relax himself, but found that he could no longer hold it in. "I...I just... _met..._ him..." Neither Jill nor Hancock looked the least bit surprised to hear this, and the detective's brow knit together in concern. "What? Did you two know, or something?" 

The Mayor lit up a cigarette, taking a moment to inhale a lengthy draw before offering his friends their own smokes. They thanked him earnestly, not realizing until then how badly they were craving nicotine. As a plume of smoke escaped his nostrils in a bull-like huff, Hancock spoke, his gravelly voice low and ominous. "We met him, too." This came as a shock to the Synth; he was wholly unaware of the boundless horrors his companions had dealt with. "He got Jill first, then me, and then you, it seems." 

"Nightmares and a slow decline into madness are side-effects of communicating with beings like him. I was okay with the nightmares, but it was already too late by the time I realized my sanity was cracking." Jill took a long drag from her cigarette before carrying on, coughing a little as the smoke left her mouth in a hazy puff. "It's my own damn fault. I thought I could handle it. The nightmares kept getting worse and worse until I couldn't take it anymore, and asked Yog-Sothoth for a solution. He told me the only way he could fix my mind was to make me one of his Scribes." 

Nick and Hancock simultaneously asked what a Scribe of Yog-Sothoth was, both being dreadfully curious as to what that meant for the young woman if she did it. She proceeded to describe how the Outer God managed to obtain nearly all of the knowledge in the multiverse. The Lurker at the Threshold was said to be omniscient, in that his existence outside of space and time allowed him to know all, and see all. However, this was only partially correct. The strange cosmic entity had explained to her that it would stretch him too thin to attempt to know and see all – at any and all times. Such an incomprehensible feat would destroy him, dispersing his energy out into the cosmos, and he would be too sparsely scattered in the voids across an eternity of eternities, no longer able to pull himself back into a physical form. Despite being a God, he too was tiny and insignificant against the backdrop of the infinite multiverse. 

For this reason, he employed Scribes: people from every inhabited planet in every universe who'd been tasked with documenting anything and everything of importance or interest, and turning their findings over to Yog-Sothoth. The information would be stored in his archives – the master collection of all conceivable and inconceivable knowledge. The Scribes were even encouraged to write down personal journal entries, for their master claimed to enjoy getting to know people based on their experiences, and how they felt about them. The people selected to be Scribes were chosen based upon their desire to learn, simply for the sake of knowledge itself. Jill reflected on her decision to translate the Necronomicon, realizing that her desire to increase her intellect had ultimately sent her into the possession of the perfect bait. The accursed tome sat open on her lap, and she sighed as she stared dismally at it. 

"I refused his offer at first, and he didn't take too kindly to that." The General was about to continue, but Hancock lifted a hand to stop her. 

"You said 'at first.' Did you do it?" The Mayor looked at her almost reproachfully, sinking back into his corner of the couch as though he were frightened by her. "Don't bullshit us, Jill...are you working with that thing?" 

"Yes, and I get that we all went through absolute hell last night, but I can explain everything if you just give me a chance." She pleaded with him, seeming to genuinely understand his distress. "He went after you, Hancock, because I declined his proposal. He decided that one way or another, he was going to get information on Ghouls, and chose to pry it from your mind." Hancock froze, staring her down as though she'd punched him in the gut – he knew exactly what she was talking about. "I offered my collective knowledge of Ghouls as an alternative, and...he took it, but determined that it wasn't enough." 

"You...you really tried to keep him from violating my mind? By letting him into yours?" The Ghoul was calmer now, but only slightly. When Jill nodded, he relaxed his tense muscles completely, and his voice softened considerably. "It didn't work, but, thank you." To that, she only smiled kindly, then turned away. Hancock – and Nick, for that matter – was truly touched by her selflessness, knowing that she went through the same hellish pain he did when his mind was probed by the Outer God. 

"Let's postpone the discussion of my state of existence." Jill took a sip of coffee, sighing softly, and sending ripples into the dark liquid's surface. Setting the cup back down, she turned to Nick. "I got dragged under the bed after I freaked out and went unconscious. What happened to you?" 

"Either I was hallucinating, or something attacked me. I fell back, and must have hit my head on the wall, knocking myself out." It was the only explanation the detective could think of that would shed some light as to why he woke up on the floor, and why his head ached so viciously. He went on to describe his terrible visions of "Jenny," the shapeshifting monstrosity that had tormented him before his meeting with the Great Yog-Sothoth. He trusted Jill and Hancock fully, and decided to spare them no details in his telling of the story. At some point, his lover found her way into his lap, allowing him to hold her close as he spoke. He didn't know until then just how much he'd been wanting to embrace her again, or how much he wanted to be alone with her. Once more, he recalled her angelic form, appearing before him as he was about to leap into an abysmal darkness, and once again called her his guardian angel. 

"That's how you saw me?" Jill's face flushed a light pink, restoring some much needed color to her face. The detective nodded, resting his hand on her scarred cheek. "That's not at all what I was going for, but..." She trailed off, placing her hand over his, leaning closer to him. "I suppose it's rather fitting for the situation, isn't it? 

"Yeah...it really is..." Before he knew it, Nick was being kissed sweetly. Almost immediately, he found himself desiring her again, and he nearly asked Hancock to leave the room for about an hour. Jill broke the kiss first, leaving him wanting more. "Hm..." He hummed, grazing her cheek with his knuckles, smiling softly. 

"I don't mean to cockblock, but..." Hancock cleared his throat, not wanting to get in their way, but also wanting to continue their discussion. The lovers looked at him, both of their expressions suggesting embarrassment. "Hey, it's all good. I definitely understand the need for a good romp to melt the stress away." 

"You really have no filter, do you?" Nick glared playfully at his friend, earning a hearty laugh and vigorous head shake from him. The detective responded with a lighthearted chuckle. "Of course you don't." 

"Anyway..." The Ghoul's tone turned serious again. "I got knocked out by something, like, two minutes after I found you two passed out. And yeah, Jill really was under the bed. You guys seriously looked dead for a minute, and I was scared shitless." Killing his cigarette, he snuffed it out in the cracked yellow ashtray on the coffee table. "The weirdest part was, right before I went unconscious, it was like gravity, or physics, or _some_ shit stopped working in here. Everything was floating." He lit up another cigarette, then toyed idly with the lighter, flicking it on every so often. "After that, the room went pitch black, and I remember getting whacked upside the back of my head. When I came to, Jill was trying to tend to you and I, Nick." 

"What do you mean?" The old Synth felt a nagging sensation that told him not to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. Instead of responding, Hancock gave the General a stiff nod, telling her that she should be the one to relate this part of the tale.


	5. Chapter 5

Jill let out a heavy sigh, snapping her eyes shut and rubbing her temples vigorously. Although seemingly unwilling, she explained what Hancock had meant. She described the horrible events to the best of her ability, noting that at the time of her tending to her companions, her sanity hadn't yet been repaired. In fact, after her bouts of night terrors, and meeting the Great Yog-Sothoth multiple times throughout the night, she'd nearly gone stark raving mad by the time Hancock awoke. Despite this, her memory retained its nearly inhuman sharpness. She recalled initially trying to speak to the distraught Mayor in the language of the Ghouls of the Dreamlands – meeping and glibbering sounds that are completely nonsensical to anyone unfamiliar with the strange, yet surprisingly helpful nocturnal creatures of the Underworld. Her use of such an alien language frightened Hancock, but not nearly as much as when she'd screamed in that terrible, nameless dialect before passing out. What had scared the poor Ghoul the most, however, was her incessant pacing around the room as she read aloud from the foul Necronomicon. 

The General, although rapidly losing her mind, was intent on helping Nick and Hancock while they were still unconscious. She couldn't wake them by any conventional means, and so she resorted to searching the bloodstained pages of the ancient tome for answers. Her mind had been severely fractured by offering her entire knowledge of earthly Ghouls to Yog-Sothoth – it showed in the way she'd paced, the crazed gleam in her eyes, and her demented cackling between reading pages from the book in those unknown languages. Just the memory of her in such a state gave Hancock chills. She'd done her best to get him to drink some water, and reassure him that the pain would subside, although at the time, he didn't know how she was aware of his splitting headache. Pausing her explanation, she turned to Nick, her expression solemn. 

"When I realized I was getting nowhere with you, I knew what I had to do." Jill's hand grasped the detective's, giving it a tight squeeze. She told him of how he was writhing on the floor, screaming in terror at regular intervals. "I tried everything, Nicky...cleansing, banishing, even _summoning_ of all awful things...nothing worked. No one answered my call...except..." 

"Yog-Sothoth?" Nick grimaced, forcing himself to say the Beyond One's name. 

"Yes." The young woman cast her eyes to the floor, then glared at the Necronomicon, internally screaming at herself for ever taking the damnable abomination. "You were next on his list. I'm not gonna lie...after I failed to keep him away from Hancock, I was terrified of what he would do to you. So...I gave in, and accepted his offer to become a Scribe, in exchange for letting you walk away unharmed." She was about to flip the pages of the book, but Nick caught her wrist, making her glance back up at him. He looked as though he might cry, then pulled her in for a tight embrace, kissing her hard. " _Mm!_ " When he pulled back, her face was flushed, and she was left breathless. "Nicky?" 

"You're so reckless..." The detective sniffed, holding her as close as physically possible. "I don't know if I could ever thank you enough, Jill, let alone repay you for this." 

"No need, sweetheart...all I want from you is your love." She placed a hand gently on his cheek, about to lean in for another kiss, but stopped when the Mayor chuckled. 

"Sorry. You guys are just really cute." The Ghoul stood from his seat, his joints popping audibly as he stretched. He rubbed the back of his head, groaning quietly. "Damn...that Outer God whatsit _seriously_ needs to learn how to be gentle. I haven't had a headache like _this_ since I went on my last bender." 

"You mean last week?" Jill taunted, laughing when Hancock nodded in response. She reached back down to the Necronomicon, turning its aged, yellowed pages until she found what she was looking for. She stopped at an entry with a drawing of a new entity. It was of a tall, swarthy, slender man, dressed like an Egyptian pharaoh – which Nick and Hancock only knew of due to pictures from old Pre-War textbooks. Removing another piece of paper from the tome, she unfolded it, revealing the notes she'd taken about this particular individual. At the top of the paper, she'd written "Nyarlathotep: The Crawling Chaos." 

"Who's that?" Nick's curiosity was peaked, although he couldn't help but feel extremely uneasy at the sight of the pharaoh-like being. 

"Well...I think he's the one that was pretending to be Jenny." As Jill said this, the old Synth felt his heart skip a beat. He looked at her inquisitively, silently asking her to continue. Even Hancock was waiting for an explanation. "Nyarlathotep is said to have 'a thousand forms,' and is known to enjoy spreading madness. He's also known as the 'messenger, heart and soul' of the Outer Gods, and he does what they ask of him." 

"Do you really think Nyar-what's-his-fuck came to torment Nicky?" Hancock sat back down next to the couple, genuinely curious about this. The General nodded. "Why?" 

"I'm not going to pretend I understand the Outer Gods, or their motivations." Jill sighed, rubbing her temple with one hand, and holding the paper with the other. "If I had to guess, he either did it because Yog-Sothoth asked him to, or because he was bored, and wanted to ruin someone's day." 

"What an asshole." The Mayor scoffed, taking a hit from his half-finished cigarette. He exhaled a large plume of smoke, coughing a little. "I get that you don't understand them, but if Yog-Sothoth sent him, why do you think he did it?" 

"I came to study the metal man, by request of the All-in-One." A new, quiet voice sounded from the far side of the room, and the trio looked up in alarm. The air in the room suddenly turned stagnant, and its smell was somewhat nauseating. A tall, swarthy, pharaoh-like man stood in the corner, leering at them. He held a long crook, forged of twisted, black wood, and embedded with gleaming golden accents. At once, Jill sat up stiffly, still in Nick's lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him protectively. "Calm yourself, Scribe. I'm only here to talk." 

"Nyarlathotep..." The Synth began to shake in his seat, coiling his arms around his lover's waist. Although the Faceless God seemed to be in a benevolent mood, he couldn't help but fear him. 

"Yes, Mr. Valentine. It's me." Nyarlathotep bowed deeply to the three companions, then straightened himself out with a half-smile. "I hope you'll forgive my intrusion, both in your mind, and in your conversation." 

"You _bit_ me!" Despite being frightened by the intruder, Nick found his voice again, becoming defensive. He glared hatefully at the Crawling Mist. 

"Yes, yes...I did. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. I've never tasted flesh quite like yours. It's not even flesh at all." Nyarlathotep seated himself on the foot of the bed, his movements incredibly human-like for an eldritch being. "Please, don't worry about me. While you carry the Elder Sign on your wrist, Jill, I cannot harm you or your friends...at least not while they're awake." 

"What the hell do you want?" Hancock glowered at him, his upper lip quivering with animosity. "Get the fuck out of my town!" 

"Now, now, John..." Hancock jumped slightly at the thing's knowledge of his first name. The Outer God's laughter was something akin to disharmonic bells. "Please understand that since the human race practically annihilated itself, _all_ cults of the Outer Gods and the Old Ones on Earth have died off. I'm here for information. That's all." 

"Well, spit it out, then. What do you want?" The Mayor wasn't about to back down. Although he was well aware that he stood no chance in a fight against such a powerful creature, he still held true to his protective nature over Goodneighbor, as well as his friends. "You'd better have a damn good reason for fucking with Nick." 

"I do, but I doubt you'd understand it." Nyarlathotep's crook vanished, and out of nowhere, he procured a long, wooden pipe, lighting its contents with a match. He took a lengthy drag, exhaling a wispy cloud of exotic smelling smoke. "The Beyond One is _especially_ curious about Ghouls, Supermutants, and Synths. Your Synth friend here is remarkably bizarre, for although he's his own person – his own _soul_ – he carries with him the memories of someone that died long ago. Yog-Sothoth doesn't understand the nature of his existence. Neither do I, for that matter." He paused, taking another hit from his pipe. "I was tasked with exploring the former's past, and the current's present, to gather whatever information I could. Unfortunately for Mr. Valentine, I cannot do so without causing some pain." 

"Was it worth it?” Nick shuddered, keeping Jill as close as he could. He never thought he'd be having such a civil conversation with something so evil. However, despite his fear and apprehension, and despite having no reason to trust this strange new entity, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved at Nyarlathotep calling him his own soul. 

"Yes, actually." The Crawling Chaos nodded, his expression sincere. "Again, I apologize for the pain and discomfort I've caused you." He adjusted himself, sitting up straight. His red eyes glimmered with a strange delight. "I've learned much from you, Mr. Valentine. You're truly a marvel to behold." He turned his head to face Hancock with a wide, toothy smile. "As are you, John." 

"Quit talking to me like we're buddies." Hancock growled, almost reaching for his knife. He only stopped himself because he realized it would be useless against an Outer God. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't belong here." 

"No, no, I don't." The Chaos King shook his head with a surprisingly sad expression. "I must say, though, I like your spunk." He relaxed his rigid posture, becoming more laid-back with the three. "I also came to deliver a message to you all from Yog-Sothoth." When no one responded to this, he continued. "He wishes to thank you for your cooperation in his endeavors, and hopes to commune with you again soon." 

"I hope he understands he'll have to go through me from now on." Jill finally spoke, her voice laced with both impatience and resentment. Without warning, she broke free from Nick's hold around her waist, standing up swiftly and approaching the intruder. Her companions were powerless to stop her as she stood defiantly before Nyarlathotep with clenched fists. "And I hope _you_ understand that my friends and loved ones are off-limits." Her left fist shot past the Masked Messenger's head, the Elder Sign dangerously close to his face. He glared at it menacingly and gulped, a low, rumbling growl and loud hiss erupting from him. "Yeah, that's right. I know what this does to you. Don't think that I won't do it." 

"You really _are_ reckless, Jill." The Outer God gave her a sardonic smile, his crimson eyes still locked onto the Elder Sign. "Reckless, but remarkably brave. I see now that you were selected by the Beyond One not only for your intelligence, but also for your strength and resilience. It's a shame I didn't find you first." His smile turned calm and sincere, despite his obvious uneasiness towards the symbol on her arm. He breathed a sigh of relief when she lowered her fist and took a step back from him. As he stood from his seat on the bed, he towered over her by at least three feet. The two stared each other down wordlessly, neither of them blinking. When Nyarlathotep spoke again, he bowed his head. "Yes...quite a shame indeed. I believe it's time for us to part." 

"Yeah...I believe so, too." The General, much to everyone's surprise, extended her right hand toward the Chaos King. He took it with an inquisitive look, shaking it gently. His own dark hand was large enough to wrap around hers completely. Although she never said it, he understood that this gesture was one signifying a truce. "May our blades never cross, Nyarlathotep. See you around." 

"Farewell for now." As he bowed to the trio, he vanished in a cloud of black mist, leaving behind a sickly sweet aroma. Jill coughed, stepping back from the mist as it evaporated completely. She turned to look at her horrified companions, neither of which seemed to be able to move from the couch. They silently exchanged glances with her before she joined them once more, sitting between the two. She snapped the Necronomicon shut, and placed the cryptograph on top of it, sighing heavily. 

"Well, Jill...I think you just went down in my book as the single-most bullheaded person I know." Hancock lit up a new cigarette, staring at the spot where the Crawling Chaos had sat. "I guarantee no one else can say they confronted an Outer God like that, and lived to talk about it." He shook his head, taking a lengthy drag from his cigarette, and draping his free arm around her shoulders. "But, I guess now I know why Nick admires you so much. You're a good woman, and a great friend." 

"Heh...thanks, Hancock." The Vault Dweller slid her arms around him and Nick, pulling them in for a hug. "I'll be honest, though...I don't think I could have handled all this without you two. Had I been alone, I probably would have just lost my shit and stayed like that for the rest of my life. I'm almost positive anyone else would have just left. Thank you for seeing this through with me." 

"No need for thanks, Jill. That's what friends are for." Hancock gave her a rough pat on the back, and a goofy smile. 

"Think nothing of it, doll." Nick pressed his lips to her temple, sighing softly. Tilting his head down, he whispered in her ear. "You're mine as soon as we're alone." The young woman's face flushed a bright red, and her hold on the Synth tightened. He sat up straight again, giving her a charming grin. "I love you, Jill." 

"I love you, too, Nick." There was more that she wanted to say, much more than she was letting on. She'd learned much from her conversations with Yog-Sothoth, and wanted nothing more than to explain everything. However, she chose to wait, and instead enjoyed the company of her lover, and her best friend.


End file.
